The Silent Hero of Beacon Hills
by musician95
Summary: After being burnt alive in his car, Deputy Parrish finds himself haunted by nightmares, reliving the horrible scenario over and over again. The only way to stop this insanity seems to be the truth: With the help of a certain strawberry blonde, Parrish sets out to discover his true identity - and maybe gets a little lost along the way.
1. Dreams & Trouble

_The fire was everywhere, all around him, relentlessly engulfing everything in its reach. The heat of the flames already burnt his skin, and they were coming closer by the second._

 _He spun around, searching for a way out, any chance to escape this hopeless situation, but it was futile. He was going to be burnt alive._ Again.

 _Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to accept his destiny. There was no way to stop the flames, and he was already on the verge of surrendering, his lungs so full of smoke that he could barely breathe. It was over._

 _The flames approached fast, and he couldn't help but think about the pain. He knew how it felt, being on fire. And he also knew that he wouldn't die, which was probably the worst thing about it. Without death to release him from his pain, he had to stand it 'til the end, 'til the fire was over and the flames had died down._

 _If he was lucky, he'd lose consciousness soon, but that was pretty much everything he could hope for. Smoke blurring his vision, he finally closed his eyes and prepared to wake up in a pile of ashes._

* * *

When Parrish opened his eyes, there were no ashes. In the darkness around him, he could only make out the silhouettes of a wooden desk and a couple of filing cabinets along the walls, which led him to the conclusion that he had – once again – fallen asleep at the police station.

With a bitter aftertaste, Parrish remembered the events of the day: Meredith's interrogation, Peter Hale being the Benefactor without even knowing it. Hopefully, he was aware of how many people he'd killed with this stupid dead pool Meredith had created.

The dead pool that included his name, Jordan Parrish. According to the banshee, he was worth five million dollars. But why? _What was he?_

Meredith seemed to know the answer, but there was no way she would tell him. She didn't even say a word when he tried to interrogate her the other day.

Leaning back in his chair, Parrish let out a deep sigh. He was having the same dream every night since that idiot tried to burn him, so it _had_ to mean something, right? Even if it was just a nightmare, he wasn't sure he could stand it much longer. He needed to find out why he was still alive; what kind of supernatural ability had made him survive the attack. And maybe, just maybe, this dream was supposed to help him.

Maybe someone was trying to tell him how to start: With fire.

As soon as Sheriff Stilinski entered the office that morning, Parrish told him to call Lydia. The sheriff figured it was about Meredith; why else could the deputy need Lydia's help?

The girl arrived about half an hour later, looking anxious. She went straight to Parrish's desk. "What happened? Is she okay?"

Parrish looked up at her, momentarily stunned by her appearance. Lydia wore her hair straight today, strawberry blond strands framing her pretty face. And those incredible eyes; they got him every time.

"Listen, it's not Meredith", Parrish explained. "I wouldn't say she's fine, but she's kept under survey."

Lydia sighed in relief. "That's good. The sheriff told me to hurry, so I supposed it was her… I'm still a bit traumatized, I guess. Keep thinking about that moment when Brunski told us she hung herself." She shrugged, taking a deep breath. "Never mind. Why am I here, then?"

"I need your help with something", Parrish announced quietly, peeking around the office to make sure they were alone. Then he looked Lydia right in the eye. "Something private. To be honest, I need your help as a banshee."

Lydia stared back at him, studying his expression. "This is about you surviving the fire, isn't it?" she asked in a whisper.

For some reason, Parrish couldn't stand looking at her any longer. He averted his gaze and began fumbling with the matchbox on his desk. "I need to figure this out", he muttered, pulling out a match. "I need to know _what_ exactly I am and why I'm still alive."

Lydia nodded. "I get that you're bit confused about all that… supernatural stuff", she answered, "but I really don't know how _I_ could be of any help for you."

"Lydia, you're the only person I could think of to do this", Parrish insisted, his eyes locked on the match in his hand.

When he lifted his head, Lydia was looking down at him in confusion. "To do what?"

"I've got a plan", Parrish said, "but you gotta trust me on this."

With these words, he lit the match and watched the little flame dance just inches from his hand.

Lydia remained silent for a long time. As he waited for an answer, the flame wandered down the match until it reached his skin. He could feel the heat in every cell of his body, eradicating from the spot where the fire burnt away at his palm.

When he looked up, he caught Lydia staring at the flame. For a split second, Parrish feared she would use some lame excuse to get the hell outta here – something like, _I've got classes right now. I'm sorry._ – but she didn't.

"Okay", was all she said, her voice still a bit unsure. "I'll see what I can do to help you. And if that's what it takes, I guess I'll have to trust you."


	2. Fire & Smoke

Every time Parrish went out onto the parking lot, he remembered that he should've died here if he was just a normal guy. But obviously, he wasn't. He was _supernatural,_ like Lydia and Scott and all of their friends.

It hadn't been hard to guess that something was wrong with those kids. They were constantly involved in some new mysterious crime, mostly unsolved murders that nobody at the station could figure out. And they were hanging out in the sheriff's office far too often for a bunch of ordinary teenagers.

To be honest, Scott's "pack" had always seemed kind of strange to him. Parrish had been suspecting things for a while, but he would never have guessed what was really going on. That Scott and his friends were actually supernatural creatures; a couple of werewolves, a werecoyote, a kitsune, a banshee – and a Stiles, who certainly had his own supernatural ability of annoying people.

Parrish shot a quick glance in Lydia's direction. She was sitting in the passenger seat of the police car, her head resting against the windowpane. She looked tired, and for a moment he felt bad for stealing her precious time. There were certainly a thousand things she would've rather done – she probably _had_ classes this morning, though she hadn't mentioned it to him.

It was hard to believe that Lydia was still seventeen. She was way too smart for the limited world of high school; had to carry too much weight for an ordinary teenage girl. For a moment, Parrish wondered how she could even handle this situation, being a banshee and finding dead bodies all the time. Hadn't she tried to give it up, to deny her abilities, to live a normal life? She could've convinced herself she was psychic after all, like everybody – including him – had suspected.

As if Lydia had read his thoughts, which she probably had, she turned her head and looked at him. "You wanna tell me where we're going?" she asked plainly.

Parrish focused on the traffic again, slightly embarrassed that Lydia had caught him staring at her. "You'll learn soon enough", he murmured.

"Well, you need to tell me _something_ if you want me to help you", Lydia replied.

Parrish hesitated. "Banshee's predict death, don't they?" he asked then.

"Yeah, exactly."

"Then let's just say I need you to do what a banshee's best at", he explained.

Lydia sighed in frustration. "I really don't get why you're being so mysterious."

That was a good question. He just had the impression he couldn't tell her the whole truth yet – maybe he was afraid she wouldn't help him anymore if she knew. Maybe she'd want to get out of the car immediately, and she would never say a word to him again. There was more than one reason he didn't want this to happen.

"You said you trust me", Parrish reminded her softly, "and I'm not the person to abuse other people's trust. Besides, you also want to find out what I am, right?"

He knew that she was looking his way right now, so he did his best to keep his eyes on the street.

"Okay", Lydia admitted then. "Of course I want to know why you're worth five million dollars. I'm just a little impatient, with all those things going on at the same time."

"If you mean Meredith, she's gonna be fine", Parrish assured her. "Sheriff Stilinski is constantly keeping an eye on her, and he'll call me right away if her condition changes. No need to worry about her."

"You're probably right", Lydia said, though she didn't sound too convinced.

They continued the drive in silence.

After only a few minutes, Parrish slowed the car down to walking pace. They had reached an abandoned quarter of Beacon Hills; many of the houses were empty because their owners had died several years ago.

As he pulled into a driveway at the end of the street, Parrish could literally feel Lydia's distaste for this place. He stopped the car in front of a small building that resembled a cabin.

"Home, sweet home", he muttered sarcastically. There was really nothing "sweet" about this place; that's why he didn't mind spending his nights at the police station, keeping himself busy with work.

Lydia raised her eyebrows at him. "This is where you live?"

Her voice was full of disbelief, but Parrish only laughed. "I'm just a deputy; this thing's cheap and you got your privacy."

"I see", Lydia murmured.

Of course, she couldn't understand what he was talking about. The Martins were probably the richest people in town, considering they had a practically unused lake house that was bigger than his own home. He couldn't expect Lydia to know what it was like for him; living alone, struggling to pay rent.

But in the end, Parrish had chosen this life himself. He had felt drawn here for some mysterious reason, and even though this was miles away from the luxurious life he'd always imagined for his future, he knew he had done the right thing. He liked his job; he liked to help people, figure things out. And there were a lot of things to figure out here in Beacon Hills.

Parrish used to think it was his fate to help others – the reason why he'd been sent here. But since he'd learned about all the supernatural creatures hanging around in Beacon Hills, he wondered if maybe he was here for a different reason. After all, he was supernatural himself…

"I'm just gonna get some gasoline." Gripped by a sudden determination, Parrish got out of the car and disappeared into the house. Five minutes later, he was storing the full canister in the trunk and climbing back inside.

"I have a feeling I will regret this", Lydia told him. "What's the gasoline for?"

Parrish turned to face her, but instead of answering her question, he looked at her apologetically. "You'll find out when we're at the warehouse. It's not far from here, okay?"

"The warehouse?" Lydia asked, still confused. "I really don't like this."

There was something fearful about her words; something that put Parrish on edge. "Please, you have to help me", he found himself begging. "You're the only one who can do this, Lydia. I'm serious; _I need you._ "

* * *

The warehouse was a gloomy place, poorly lit by a bare bulb and reeking of fuel. There was dust everywhere; Parrish knew that the building had been deserted for at least twenty years. A large parking lot adjoined the building, and the whole area was surrounded by a safety fence. At the gate, a warning sign read: _No admittance for unauthorized personnel._ This was simply the perfect place to put his plan into action.

Lydia didn't seem to like it, though; she kept glancing around as if they could be attacked at any second. When Parrish finally told her about his plan, her eyes grew wide.

"You want me to _burn you_?" she asked in disbelief. "Okay, you have obviously lost your mind now."

"Lydia, all I'm asking of you is to use your banshee power and make sure I won't die." Parrish put the can of gasoline down and took off his jacket.

"But that's not how it works!" Lydia protested, throwing her strawberry blond hair back in indignation. "I don't even know how to _control_ my powers, let alone how to use them correctly. _I can't do this._ "

"You can", Parrish said. "I know you can." Then he took a step forward, resting his hands on Lydia's shoulders as he continued. "I wouldn't do this if it weren't absolutely necessary. But I'm willing to stand the pain if it helps me find out what – _who –_ I really am! Isn't that what you want, too?"

"Finding out what you really are, yes", Lydia answered. "Watching you burn alive, certainly not."

"I told you, I can stand the pain", Parrish replied, even if he knew it would be hard. But as he'd said, he was willing to go through this hell all over again if that's what he needed to do.

"Lydia, from all that I've learned about you so far, you know whenever a person's going to die", he said, looking right into her eyes. "So you will also know when I'm about to die, right?"

Lydia bit her lower lip. "Right, I guess", she muttered after a while.

"Okay, then. If you think I might die – die for good, I mean – it's your job to kill the fire. Otherwise, you just watch whatever will happen to me. Got it?"

Lydia nodded slowly, though he could see that she was absolutely averse to his plan. Parrish released her shoulders and took a step back. He wished there was something he could say to make her feel better, but as he didn't find the right words, he started unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it over his head. Then he grabbed the can of fuel and poured its content all over his body, so every bit of his skin would easily catch fire.

Of course, all of this seemed strange to him. He couldn't blame Lydia for calling his plan insane – actually, it was. But somehow, Parrish knew he had to do it. If he wanted to find out the truth about himself, he had to face the flames and the pain that would come with them. Knowledge could only be achieved at a price; that's how life worked, even in the supernatural world.

Parrish took a deep breath and looked over at Lydia, who was fumbling nervously at the hem of her sweater. Seeing her worried face, the words suddenly came to him all by themselves.

"Listen, I think I have quite a good knowledge of human nature. And I chose you for this job because I know you can do it, and because I trust you. What else do you wanna hear?"

Lydia shrugged, obviously giving up the fight. "I guess a few more screams won't matter to me, anyway."

"I'm sorry for that", Parrish told her, feeling all the more guilty to burden her with this job. "I hope you know how much I appreciate your help. – Now, could you please light a match?"

He pulled the matchbox out of his pocket and threw it at her. Lydia caught it, then bit her lip before pulling out a match. Parrish felt impatient as he watched her cautious movements. He wanted to have it over with, and his doubts were getting stronger by the second.

Lydia's hands trembled; she needed three attempts to light the match. In small steps, she made her way toward him, searching his face every now and then as if she waited for him to stop this insanity. But Parrish remained silent, despite the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. One look at the match and he could almost sense the pain, as vivid as it was in his memory.

His voice of reason fought hard to gain control, but for the first time in his life, Parrish wasn't supposed to act reasonable. He told himself that he was just doing his job: digging for the truth. He was a deputy, after all, and even though this case seemed impossible to solve, he had to figure something out. It didn't matter what price he had to pay; it was also part of his job to make sacrifices for the benefit of other people. And who knew what would happen to him one day, if his supernatural abilities got the upper hand? What if he hurt people, or actually killed them?

Parrish knew he had to find out the truth about himself before he put someone else in danger. It was this thought that helped him to steel himself for the pain.

"Throw it at my feet and stand back", he instructed Lydia. "I'll be okay."

"I don't want to do this", she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Lydia, I'm counting on you", Parrish said insistently. "Do it."

He looked at her for a long moment, trying to memorize every detail of her pretty face. When she finally dropped the match, he could only think how glad he was to have her around. Lydia's eyes were the last thing he saw before he was engulfed in flames, and somehow, he could still see them when the pain set in. Only this time, it didn't seem so bad.


	3. Pain & Trust

_It was dark except for a small flame shining in the distance. Parrish started running, but it seemed like he didn't move an inch. He remained in the same spot; it was impossible for him to reach the flame._

 _After a few seconds, he got the impression that the flame was dying. A bad feeling spread in the pit of his stomach and he found himself praying for the flame to survive. He didn't want to end up in complete darkness, but the light was already fading. Fear was creeping up his spine. There was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable, and what would happen to him when the flame ceased to exist?_

 _Moments later, he was swallowed by the shadows and surrounded by a silence that seemed worse than a thousand sirens howling at once. He didn't know whether he was falling or still standing in the same spot. But somehow, Parrish could tell that this was the end._

 _Until he heard the banshee's scream._

* * *

Parrish didn't remember a thing at first. He found himself on the ground and covered in ashes. His body was aching like hell, _burning_ , and his lungs screamed for air, but there was nothing but smoke. Parrish squinted to get a clear vision. Then he saw Lydia, and in a split second, it all came back to him.

He wanted to ask a thousand questions at once, but the words got stuck in his throat as he started choking.

"Oh, thank God", he heard Lydia gasp, though her voice sounded distant.

When his breathing had finally settled down, Parrish took a closer look at her. She was kneeling right beside him, her hands shaking and her eyes bloodshot; she seemed like a complete wreck. This couldn't be because of him, could it?

"I'm all right", he wheezed and immediately wanted to get up, but his legs wouldn't carry his weight. Defeated, Parrish sank back to his knees.

Lydia took a deep breath. "For a second, I thought you were…" She trailed off, but the unspoken word seemed to linger in the air like the smoke around them. _Dead._

Parrish felt guilty at her sight, even though he didn't have a clue what had happened. He just wished there was something he could say to make up for the tears in her eyes.

"I panicked", Lydia explained after a while, staring at the ground. "You were screaming in agony, and I didn't think I could make it… Then you collapsed and it seemed like you stopped breathing. I was afraid you could be…"

"Dead", Parrish said this time. "But you would've known it, Lydia. You're a banshee."

"It scared me, seeing you like that", she replied. "I don't know what I would've done if…"

For some reason, Parrish felt energized as he listened to her words. _Something_ had happened to him just moments ago. Something had brought him back to life.

Driven by the adrenaline rushing through his veins, he took a second attempt to stand up. His legs were still a bit shaky, but after a few rocky steps, he found his balance. "What happened to me?" he asked, looking at his battered body, the burnt skin. "It seems like we still don't know a thing."

Lydia stumbled to her feet. "Maybe we do."

"You saw something?"

She nodded. "It was… it was _amazing_ ", she said, the hint of a smile crossing her lips. "I don't know what it was, or what it means, though."

There was something about her expression that gave Parrish hope. "Lydia, what did you see?" he asked insistently.

But instead of answering, Lydia walked towards him until she was only inches away. Then she gently placed her hand on his chest, right on the spot where his heart sat.

"You glowed", she whispered, looking up at him. "Right there."

Parrish returned her look, trying to understand the meaning of her words. He _wanted_ to believe her more than anything, but this didn't make any sense.

"What do you mean, I _glowed_?" he whispered back.

Lydia's hand still rested on his chest, and something about her touch felt just right, but as always, his mind was stronger than his heart. His feelings were immediately overpowered by reason; he knew that she was just a seventeen-year-old girl and he was not supposed to think of her that way.

As if she had read his thoughts, Lydia suddenly drew back. "Your heart", she tried to explain. "After you'd collapsed, it glowed in your chest. I could see it pulsating, and then you woke up."

"So I was already… dead?" Parrish asked in disbelief.

"I don't know", Lydia replied almost inaudibly. "At some point, the flames died down and you fell to the ground, and I was sure you didn't breathe. For a second."

"And you screamed", Parrish added, sunken in thought.

"I screamed."

They looked at each other for a moment, trying to process everything that had happened.

Parrish wondered about his dream as he lost himself in the depth of Lydia's eyes. The flame that had finally died and left him in total darkness – it seemed to prove Lydia right. He'd been dead, for a split second, and then he'd come back to life. But how?

Parrish couldn't help but think there was some connection to the fire. He obviously had some sort of supernatural ability, but as far as he knew, every supernatural creature could be killed in some way. He wasn't immortal; in fact, he had a feeling that he could easily be killed by a gunshot or stabbed by a knife. It _had_ to be the fire.

Lydia suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "Look at your skin!" she exclaimed, and Parrish riveted on his bare arms.

A pulsating wave of light was wandering from his hand up to his shoulder, leaving the skin clean and sound. All the black spots and swellings had disappeared, as if he'd never had any contact with fire. As if his whole body hadn't been _aflame._

"What the hell is that?" he murmured to himself.

"You're recovering", Lydia said, looking stunned. "As if nothing ever happened."

Somehow, Parrish was beginning to lose his patience. "I don't get it!" he called out, clenching his fists. "I don't get any of this. My heart stopped, didn't it? I should've been dead, so why am I still alive?"

"You _were_ dead", Lydia whispered, absently touching the skin on his arm with her fingertips. "And now you're alive."

"Am I revived?" Parrish wondered. "Back from the dead?"

"Not only that", Lydia replied, giving him a knowing look. "It's as if you never died in the first place. Your body looks as good as new. You're _reborn._ "

"Reborn?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

Lydia shrugged. "Maybe that's what you can do. You can be reborn."

"So what am I?"

"Does it even matter?"

He stared at Lydia in disbelief.

How could she say something like that, after what they'd just done? Maybe he'd simply overrated her. Maybe she didn't even care what kind of creature he was; she was probably just curious because someone was willing to pay five million dollars to see him dead, so there had to be _something_ special about him.

Lydia and her friends had been trying to stop the deadpool in order to stop the deaths. For them – for _her –_ Parrish was just another name on the list, another person whose life they were trying to save. That was it. Had he really been stupid enough to believe that Lydia cared about _him_? If he wasn't part of the deadpool, she would never have come here. Actually, she wouldn't have wasted a second thought on him.

"If you don't care about this, you can as well go", Parrish told her in a harsh tone. "You're free to leave whenever you want."

"But we're in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere!" Lydia replied. "Okay, listen. All I'm saying is that we've done everything we can. We've tried to figure it out, you've actually _burned yourself alive_ – and still, we don't have a clue what you really are."

Listening to her words, Parrish was getting angrier by the second. "So we just stop searching for an answer, because you don't care about it, anyway? Is that what you wanted to say?"

"I never said that I _don't care_ ", Lydia protested. "It's just; what options do you have left? Burn yourself another time? You have suffered enough for a while, and I can't stand by and watch you ruin yourself. This is futile."

"So you think I'm ruining myself by searching for the truth?" Parrish couldn't help but dig deeper. His self-control had long since faded, leaving his emotions to pilot his body. "You wanna know what's _really_ ruining me? – Not knowing who I am."

Parrish risked a quick glance in Lydia's direction, but decided it was too painful to look at her. For some reason, her words felt like a betrayal to him, and he knew better than giving his trust to the wrong people.

In a low voice, he explained: "I'm having those nightmares about the fire; it's the same scenario every night. And it seems like the flames are laughing at me, mocking me for not having an identity, for not finding a way out, for dying without knowing who I am."

Lydia sighed. "I can see your point, okay? But the thing with supernatural abilities is, they're not something you _understand._ They're something you have, and they'll manifest themselves when it's time. I think you're asking too much if you want to figure out everything on your own. Maybe all you have to do is wait."

"Lydia, I'm working at a police station, and all I'm trying to do is find answers. That's my job, basically! I don't think I'm asking too much." Parrish took a deep breath before he continued. "But maybe I've been asking too much by thinking you could help me", he told her. "You never even _wanted_ to help!"

For a moment, he felt Lydia's eyes on him, but forced himself not to meet her gaze. It was over. He'd made a mistake by asking her for help; he should've known from the beginning that she wasn't the right person for this job.

"You know what? You're right", Lydia said then. "I never wanted to come. I knew this was a bad idea, but I've let you talk me into it, anyway."

Silence filled the warehouse; a silence that felt really awful, as if they were both already regretting the things they'd said. Parrish wanted to say something, but all the words in his mind sounded wrong. He was afraid that he might only make the situation worse, and he really didn't want to fight with Lydia any longer. So he remained quiet.

It was Lydia who finally broke the tension. "We're done here, aren't we?" she asked hesitantly.

Parrish nodded, waking up from his daze. "Yeah, we're done."

* * *

Neither of them said a word on the drive home.

Parrish stopped the car in front of the Martins' driveway and expected Lydia to get out as fast as she could. But she didn't.

As she remained seated for another minute, Parrish finally turned to look at her. There she was, perfectly dressed as always, strands of hair falling softly into her face. Despite her sorrowful expression, he couldn't deny how truly beautiful she was. And those eyes of hers, they were staring right back at him with a depth that seemed to capture him completely. He wouldn't be able to avert his gaze, even if he wanted to.

"I get why you didn't want to tell me about your plan", Lydia said slowly. "I wanted to help you, Parrish, but not like that. This is the first time I've ever seen you care about yourself more than about other people. I know you must've been through an excruciating pain, and I really admire you for your willingness to make sacrifices. I just wish you would've thought about _me_ for a second; about what kind of pain _I_ was going through, having to watch you burn alive."

Without waiting for an answer, Lydia opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. Parrish looked after her, perplexed, until she had disappeared into the house. Then he forced himself to focus and started his way back to the police station, no longer worrying about what kind of supernatural creature he was. Suddenly, his mind was occupied by something else, something that seemed even more important than his real identity.

Parrish was just beginning to realize that he liked Lydia more than he should. And as if that wasn't enough, he'd disappointed her and had no idea how to fix it.


	4. Danger & Sacrifice

That night, Parrish didn't dream about the fire. He dreamed about Lydia Martin, and when he woke up, he knew he needed to apologize.

So before he made his way to the police station the next morning, Parrish headed for the Martins' house. Lydia's mother opened the door, looking shocked.

"Good morning, Mrs. Martin", Parrish greeted her, taking off his hat.

Lydia's mother seemed too worried to greet him back. "Is everything all right, Deputy?" she asked immediately. "Is it Lydia?"

"What?" Parrish was confused for a second, then shook his head. "No – no, of course not. Isn't Lydia home?"

Mrs. Martin relaxed visibly. "Oh, thank God. She's taken the car and left early this morning. She wouldn't tell me where she's going, but she wants me to call Stiles if she doesn't come back until dinner." Sighing, she ran a hand through her strawberry blond hair that looked so much like Lydia's.

"This seemed all very strange to me", Mrs. Martin continued. "Lydia doesn't even answer my texts! And then you showed up and the first thing that came to my mind was her, that something might've happened –"

"Everything's fine", Parrish interrupted her, his calm voice hiding the fact that he was suddenly very anxious himself.

Where could Lydia have gone? And why the hell didn't she tell anyone about her plans? He hoped for God's sake that she wasn't in some kind of danger right now.

"I just wanted to see if Lydia's here", Parrish explained to Mrs. Martin. "I urgently need to talk to her, and it's my duty as a deputy to make sure she's safe. So I suggest that we track her down as soon as possible."

"Maybe you should talk to Stiles", Lydia's mother replied. "He might have an idea where she's going."

And so Parrish took off to find Stiles.

As he met the Sheriff's son – much to his surprise – in high school (who would've thought he'd ever be where he was supposed to be?), it turned out that Mrs. Martin had been right: Stiles did have an idea about Lydia's location. But it wasn't until Parrish told him exactly what'd happened the other day that he could figure it out.

"I bet she's trying to find Gerard", Stiles said, looking somehow worried.

Parrish frowned. "Gerard Argent? But what would she want from him?"

"The beastiary."

"Excuse me, the _what_?" This was starting to get really weird. All he knew was that Gerard Argent had been living in a sanatorium after his rather short stay in Beacon Hills. But why would Lydia take a one-hour-drive just to get this mysterious beastiary? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't worth risking her life for, and with Gerard Argent, you never knew.

Stiles' expression darkened; he was obviously thinking the same thing. "She's going to search the beastiary for a description of your abilities, so she can find out who – or _what –_ you are. Every supernatural creature's listed in there. But Gerard won't just give away his most precious possession, I guess. Lydia might be in real trouble by now."

Parrish swallowed hard, hoping it wasn't already too late. He didn't even want to imagine what this crazy old man could possibly do to a girl like Lydia… If he was hiding a weapon somewhere, she'd be pretty helpless.

"If you ask me, we'd better hurry up and follow her", Stiles announced, clutching his bag. "Even at full speed, it'll take us at least –"

"Thanks a lot, Stiles, but you're not coming", Parrish cut him off. "I'm going alone."

"Alone?" Stiles stared at him. "No way! I certainly won't sit around and wait while Lydia –"

"Stop it!" Parrish told him, leaving no space for protest. "Stiles, this is my job, and I'll do it alone. Lydia is going to be fine. Don't you have classes or something?"

"You can't be serious!" Stiles replied. "You're expecting me to concentrate on algebra while Lydia's obviously in danger?"

"Honestly, yes." And with that, Parrish turned around and left Stiles in the hallway.

* * *

The drive to the sanatorium seemed to stretch endlessly. Parrish tried to concentrate on the traffic but found himself constantly worrying about Lydia. He was driving as fast as he could, the sound of the sirens ringing in his ears – it took all his willpower to pull himself together and stay sane.

Somewhere in his mind, Parrish wondered why his body was reacting so intensely to the image of Lydia being in danger. He'd saved dozens of people in his life, all types of people. Girls who'd shown him their gratitude with a kiss; some of them very pretty, though not as pretty as Lydia. The point was, there shouldn't be a difference. This was supposed to be his job, only it didn't feel that way.

While it was always his first priority to save people, it felt like an absolute necessity now. If something happened to Lydia today, he'd be devastated, and it would all be his fault. She went searching for that thing _because of him._ She brought herself in danger _because of him._ How could Lydia Martin, probably the smartest girl at Beacon Hills High, do something as foolish as that?

Eventually, after the longest hour of his life, Parrish parked the car in a safe distance and hurried for the entrance of the sanatorium. As he asked for Gerard's room, he tried hard to hide the nervousness in his voice so it wouldn't give him away. The woman behind the counter hesitated for a moment, suspicion crossing her face at the sight of his uniform. Only when Parrish explained that he was here in a private affair, she told him the room number.

"I suggest we ask one of the nurses to accompany you", the woman added, looking worried. "Mr. Argent might react heatedly to a stranger entering his room."

"Oh, I'm certainly not a stranger", Parrish declared. "Mr. Argent will remember me."

"I'm just trying to tell you that he might be in a particularly agitated condition. He already had one unexpected visitor today."

Parrish narrowed his eyes. "A girl, right? Strawberry blond hair, age seventeen?"

"Exactly", the woman answered in confusion. "She came here about an hour ago."

"And she's still in there with Mr. Argent?"

"I didn't see her leave." The woman paused. "So should I call a nurse to accompany you?"

"No!" Parrish told her decidedly. "No, of course not. I will be fine."

"Sir, are you –"

"Yes, I'm sure. Thanks for your help!" And off he went, hurrying up the stairs until he reached the right level.

Most of the rooms in Gerard's corridor seemed to be empty, which meant that he must have quite an amount of privacy in this building. If he threatened Lydia, would anybody be able to hear her scream? If she called for help, would they find her in time?

As much as he wanted to stay positive, Parrish couldn't help but worry about her.

Gerard's room was at the very end of the corridor; when Parrish stopped in front of his door, he could clearly make out the sound of voices inside.

"Let me go", he heard Lydia say, but Gerard only responded with humorless laughter.

"You knew it was stupid to come here, didn't you?" the old man replied.

"I came for a reason." Parrish noticed that Lydia's voice was trembling, even though she tried hard to hide it from Gerard. "If you ever cared about Allyson, you will untie me now and hand over the beastiary."

"Allyson has nothing to do with his", Gerard grumbled. "She has chosen the wrong side. If anything, her death is your fault."

Lydia's next words came muted, weak, as if she was already on the verge of tears. "Allyson would've wanted you to do the right thing", she said "Just once."

Silence.

Parrish pressed his ear against the wooden door, wondering what was happening on the other side. Did Gerard have any weapons? Anything to hurt Lydia or torture her with? He shuddered at the thought of it.

After a while, Lydia spoke again. "So, are you just gonna keep me in here until someone comes in and finds me? We can wait for that, or you could simply hand over the beastiary."

"You know what I'm asking for in return", Gerard said. "And I sure as hell have my methods to get it, now that you're here."

"What, you're gonna take me hostage?" Lydia laughed nervously. "I'm not doing anything without the beastiary."

 _Beastiary._ The word kept echoing in Parrish's mind, reminding him why Lydia had come here in the first place; why she needed that damn book.

She had done this because of the stupid obsession he'd developed, the crazy urge to find out more about his supernatural abilities. Now, the only thing he knew was that he had to save her at any cost.

His hand was already on the doorknob when he heard Gerard's voice again, more insistent than ever: "I want Scott McCall."

"Well, that's too bad", Lydia muttered.

"Call him." It was an order, leaving no room for protest.

Lydia seemed to hesitate, and in that moment Parrish could sense her exertion as if it were his own. All he wanted to do was put his arms around her, stroke her hair gently; anything to put her at ease and convince her that she'd be okay.

"No", Lydia said quietly. "And now give me the beastiary, or I'll scream."

Parrish tensed his muscles, ready to burst into the room at any moment.

"Don't you dare screaming, little banshee, or I swear I will stab your throat with that knife of yours!" Gerard threatened, and Parrish's heart sank.

Obviously Lydia had been smart enough to bring a weapon, which had somehow ended up in Gerard's hands.

He half expected the old man to yell at Lydia, but instead he heard his dangerously calm voice, barely more than a whisper – which felt even worse, in a way.

Goosebumps appeared on his forearms as Gerard hissed: "Call Scott. _Now._ "

His words were followed by a dry cough.

Then Lydia's voice: _"Make me."_

In this moment, Parrish knew he had to do something before Gerard got a chance to lay his dirty fingers on Lydia. "STOP!" he called out as he rushed into the room, holding his gun steadily in front of him.

"Parrish", he heard Lydia gasp in relief.

One second later, Gerard ordered: "Drop the gun, or she'll be dead."

Parrish looked from Gerard and the knife in his hands to Lydia, whose wrists and ankles had been tied to a chair.

"Drop it!" Gerard repeated, and Lydia shot him a desperate look as if she wanted to say, _do it._

With a clattering sound, the gun hit the floor.

Parrish felt his heart rate speed up, thoughts spinning around his head. He saw the worry in Lydia's eyes and her strawberry blond hair and the metallic glint of the knife so close to her beautiful face, and everything threatened to disappear into a blur of shapes and colors.

Then, without really meaning to, he heard himself say the words: "Take me instead."

Gerard and Lydia were both staring at him, but Parrish understood now that it was the only way; his only chance to save this girl.

"Take me instead of Scott", he repeated, taking a step forward. "I may not be worth as much, but I've got powers, too. Take me and let her go."

"No", Lydia began to whisper. "No, Parrish, you can't –"

"I have to", he interrupted her. "Just let me do this, okay? I'm gonna be fine."

Lydia remained silent.

When Parrish looked at her, she kept her eyes trained on the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze. She seemed so fragile in this moment, as if she might break into pieces at any second. But she was still the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, even though her skin seemed so pale right now and her wrists already had sore spots from trying to slip out of the bonds.

She would never be here if it weren't for him, Parrish realized once again. She would never be tied to that chair, staring at the ground and obviously fighting tears.

If handing himself over to Gerard was the only chance to get Lydia out of here, he would not hesitate. This wasn't about him anymore, or what he could do. Everything that mattered was saving Lydia's life.

Parrish had done this many times before, saving people's lives, and yet it felt completely different in this situation. It wasn't his job as a deputy to be here. The reason he had come this far, driven all those miles to end up in a shabby sanatorium, wasn't Gerard Argent or the beastiary.

It was Lydia.

Uncomfortably aware of the knife in Gerard's hands, Parrish searched the room for any other weapons, anything he could use to defend himself. But there was nothing inside these walls but a bed, a crooked hanging cupboard and a small wooden table.

Gerard, who had mustered his unexpected guest quite precisely, was grinning at Parrish. "Five million dollars, am I correct?" he snarled.

"Yes, Sir." Parrish saw the wrinkles on Gerard's forehead deepen as he considered the deal, so he tried his best to convince the old man of his abilities.

"I know why you need Scott", he explained quickly. "I know you're hoping to be cured by using his power, but mine can cure you just as well."

Gerard narrowed his eyes at him. "Tell me what you can do."

"I can be reborn", Parrish said matter-of-factly, quoting Lydia's words from the warehouse. From the corner of his eye, he could see her shift uneasily in her chair.

"Reborn", Gerard repeated, a flash of recognition crossing his face. "Show me."

Parrish looked from Gerard's grimaced face to the closed shades behind him, and then, finally, he turned around to see Lydia's face even paler than before.

 _No,_ she mouthed, shaking her head, but Parrish knew he had no choice.

"If there is a way I can transfer my power into your body and cure you, I will do it, Sir", he said. "But I want Lydia out of here, are we clear?"

Gerard let out a morbid laugh, followed by one of his awful coughs. "I don't need the girl", he declared. "What good is a banshee for a man like me? I know that I'm about to die."

"So untie her", Parrish ordered.

"You first." Gerard shifted the knife from one hand to the other. "Show me that you're not just a dirty little liar."

"Don't do it, Parrish!" Lydia called out frantically. "You can't hurt yourself again, okay? We only have to wait for someone to come and find us…"

"Who? And what do you think he'll do when somebody enters the room?" Parrish replied. "This is the only way, Lydia. I want you to get out of here as soon as you're free."

Lydia kept shaking her head, whispering: "No, no. No…" Over and over again.

"I'm waiting", Gerard cut her off eventually. "Show me why you're worth five million dollars, Deputy. Show me that you are exactly what I think you are."

Parrish took a deep breath and announced: "I'll need fire."

Wordlessly, Gerard walked over to the small bedside table and pulled a lighter out of the drawer. "Anything else?"

"I guess not." Parrish's hands were trembling slightly as he took the lighter. Even though he wanted to burn only a small spot on his forearm, he couldn't help but remember the pain he'd endured so many times in his sleep. Then he thought about Lydia, and the image of her and the knife in Gerard's hands washed away all his doubts.

He pulled back his sleeve and clicked on the lighter with determination.

"Don't do it", Lydia said again, trying one last time to stop him. "I'm going to scream if you do this, Parrish."

Gerard shot her an icy look. "You better not, or you know what's gonna happen", he hissed, raising the knife threateningly at her.

"No, please." Lydia swallowed hard. "Parrish. You know what this is doing to me; I told you! Do not –"

"I'm doing this for _you,_ Lydia, okay?" Parrish said quietly. "It'll be just a small spot. Won't leave a scar."

And then, before she could say anything else, he lowered the little flame to the bare skin on his forearm.

The pain set in almost immediately, and even though it was just one tiny part of his body, it felt just as intense as in his dreams. He remembered how Lydia had been the last thing on his mind before he lost consciousness back in the warehouse, but thinking about her didn't seem to help him now. He only kept seeing her fear-stricken face; the way her eyes were filled with tears as she begged him not to do it.

Yet it was the only chance to keep her save, and she was not only his responsibility as a deputy of Beacon Hills but also the one person he'd ever truly cared about.

Parrish waited until the flame had burned away a large part of skin on his arm before he took the lighter away, tossing it back to Gerard. Then he held out his arm so the old man could have a look at the burnt spot.

After a short moment, his raw skin changed, _healed,_ just as it had in the warehouse when Lydia had first noticed it. Under Gerard's sharp eyes, the injured flesh turned sound again, as if it had never been in contact with fire before.

Gerard nodded slowly, looking up from Parrish's arm and into his eyes.

"Impressive", he admitted in his dangerously calm voice. "Probably nothing compared to the powers of a True Alpha, but still… I think you could be of use for me."

"As I said, I'm gonna do whatever you want", Parrish replied, staring back at Gerard. "But first, you let Lydia go."

The old man raised his knife and went over to Lydia to cut her loose, a grimaced laugh distorting his features. "You're lucky, little banshee", he told her. "Our deputy here seems to have a crazy obsession with self-sacrifice, don't you think?"

Parrish followed Gerard's every movement, ready to intervene at the tiniest hint that he might hurt Lydia. It was killing him to see her in this situation, her life depending on the reliability of an insane old man with a kitchen knife in his hands. But it was killing him even more that _he_ himself had brought her into that situation.

Finally, Gerard stepped back and Lydia's bonds fell to the ground, as did the weight on Parrish's chest. He exhaled in relief. "You okay, Lydia?"

"I think so", she answered, stretching her numb limbs. Then she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and stood up. "But I'm not leaving without you."

"Don't be stubborn!" Parrish protested immediately. "You need to get out _now."_

"It's her choice", Gerard intervened. "She's free to leave, but I'm not going to force her."

Lydia crossed her arms above her chest. There was something glowing in her eyes; something that looked suspiciously like she was not willing to give up yet.

"I told you I'm not leaving without you", she told Parrish again. Then she turned to Gerard. "And not without the beastiary, either."

Parrish took a step toward her. "Lydia", he said quietly, weariness creeping into his voice, "I'm begging you: Just do what I say, and go."

This was almost unbearable. And it was also very, very stupid.

All he wished for in this moment was to get her safe, to know that she was unharmed and on her way home. But of course, she couldn't just go when she had the chance to. She couldn't just leave the dirty work to him, who was the cop here, after all.

He was going to handle this. Gerard Argent was one of many crazy criminals he'd already dealt with in his job. He just needed Lydia to get out of the way so there'd be nothing to hold him back. Parrish wasn't afraid of hurting himself; he'd be willing to take a risk and jump for his gun if it weren't for Lydia.

 _The gun._

It was as if she'd read the word in his eyes. Her head tilted in the direction of the weapon; thankfully, Gerard didn't seem to notice that tiny movement. In fact, he seemed to have completely forgotten about the gun.

But it was still here, right there on the carpet where Parrish had dropped it when he entered the room. And Lydia was going to reach for it. He knew her intentions, knew the plan she was trying to figure out as if it was generated in his own mind.

"It seems like you're demanding even more than when you entered this room", Gerard said now, addressing Lydia. "Why for God's sake would I give _you_ the beastiary?"

"I told you, I only need one look", Lydia replied firmly. "I need to find some piece of information, that's all. – Try to think about Allyson, for a second. Wouldn't she have wanted you to help me?"

"You are not manipulating me by bringing up her name over and over again", Gerard grumbled, his voice taking on a warning tone.

Whether the old man liked it or not, it was obvious that the mention of Allyson's name didn't leave him completely cold. There was something attached to his granddaughter – hurt, guilt, whatever – that still lived within him, that made him vulnerable, and Lydia was trying to use that memory against him.

"Lydia, please stop", Parrish begged her, his voice shaky. "You need to let it go. _All_ of it."

He hoped she would understand his words correctly. It would be no good for anyone if she kept playing games with Gerard. She needed to drop the subject of Allyson and forget about the beastiary. Most of all, she needed to keep away from that damn gun on the ground.

"I'm not going to do that until he hands over the beastiary", Lydia replied, averting her eyes. "We need it."

Parrish sighed. "No, we don't, okay? It doesn't matter anymore. I just want you to get out of here, right now."

Despite her best efforts to avoid his gaze, her eyes kept flickering over at him.

"Well, I didn't want you to find me here in the first place", she said, her voice breaking. "I didn't want any of this, don't you understand? I didn't want to burn you in the warehouse! I didn't want to be involved in all of this! I never chose to be a banshee!"

She looked over at Gerard. "I didn't want to watch Allyson die. But it seems like I've never had a choice."

There were tears in her eyes as she stared at Gerard, and tears in his eyes as he opened his mouth to yell at her, but everything that came out was one of those horrible coughs, accompanied by little splatters of blood.

Then Parrish noticed a quick movement behind him and realized that Lydia was reaching for the gun.

"Lydia, don't!" he called out at the same time as Gerard ordered: "Drop the gun!"

Lydia aimed the weapon right at Gerard's chest. "Drop it", Gerard repeated, this time quieter and even more threatening.

Parrish tried to put all his persuasion, all his empathy into the one word he managed to get out: her name.

 _"Lydia."_

She looked at him; all wide eyes and beauty in every inch of her face. Then he saw her jaw drop.

"Parrish", she whispered in disbelief. "You're eyes. You're eyes; they're –"

Before she could finish the sentence, Gerard threw the knife. The blade was flying in Lydia's direction, about to hit her chest when Parrish pushed her aside.

The knife sank into his stomach.

Then he heard a gunshot and saw Gerard sink to the ground, coughing, a bullet in his throat.

There was blood everywhere: in his stomach, on his hands, splashing from Gerard's throat.

"Parrish!" Lydia exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry –"

Parrish pressed one hand tightly on the wound in his stomach and reached for Lydia's arm with the other. "It's okay", he whispered to her, although he was obviously far from okay.

But in that moment, Parrish didn't give a shit about the knife in his body or the bloody stain that was spreading out all over his shirt. It didn't even hurt that much.

"It's okay", he repeated, looking into Lydia's bright eyes. "You're okay."

Her face was filled with guilt and worry, and her lower lip was trembling so badly that she could hardly speak. "But you're not", Lydia managed to get out. "I'm sorry; I'm so sorry! What are we gonna do?"

"I'll be fine", Parrish assured her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "Call an ambulance. It's gonna be okay."

As Lydia draw back and fumbled for her cellphone, he could feel how the strength was gradually leaving his body. He suddenly felt exhausted, and it was hard to keep his eyes open.

When he brought his hand up from his stomach, it was so drenched in blood that he might as well have dipped it into a can of red paint. Black spots where already starting to block his vision.

Lydia was talking quietly on the phone, but her voice sounded distant, as if they were separated by miles instead of a few feet. After a moment, she knelt down again, her hand on his chest.

"They're on their way", she told him. "I never meant for this to happen, Parrish! You know that, right?"

Parrish nodded and even managed a tiny smile. "I know. Don't worry, they're gonna fix me sooner than you think."

Lydia tried to smile back, but it was more like a pained grimace.

When she turned her head a little, Parrish craned his neck and tried to follow her gaze. He knew she was looking at Gerard, though he couldn't see him from where he lay.

"Is he…?" Parrish asked quietly, somehow unable to finish his question.

Lydia hesitated. She just stared over at the spot where Gerard's motionless figure must be, and Parrish found himself equally hoping that the old man was dead and that he was alive.

Right before he closed his eyes, Lydia looked down at him again – and he knew that Gerard was dead even before she shook her head and whispered: "No."


	5. Lost & Found

In his dreams, there was no fire, no flames eating up on his arms and legs.

There was no pain at all.

All he saw in his dreams was light, and it grew stronger by the second, until it seemed to burst through his closed eyelids, filling every inch of his body with warmth.

The instant his lids began to flutter, Parrish heard Lydia's voice. She whispered his name, more like a question: "Parrish. Parrish? Do you hear me?"

There was an explosion of light when he opened his eyes, and then there was Lydia's face; her green eyes and that soft smile of hers. "Hey", she said quietly. "I'm glad you're awake."

Behind her, the evening sun was already sinking toward the horizon, and a cool breeze was blowing in through the open window.

"You cold?" Lydia asked, but he shook his head.

"I'm fine", he told her, though the words came out as nothing more than a strained croak.

Lydia held out a glass of water for him. "Want some?"

"Thanks."

After he'd gulped down the whole glass, Parrish sat up straighter and looked around the room.

He was, no doubt, in a hospital. Fluorescent lights were flickering from the ceiling, making the room seem exposed – the white walls were covered with small dirty spots and, in one corner, a large coffee stain.

There was nobody in the room except for Lydia and him; no doctors or other patients.

Then, just as he wanted to ask Lydia what had happened, it was all coming back to him: the sanatorium, Lydia tied to a chair, Gerard, the gun. The knife, flying through the air in a rush of shapes and colors, until it finally hit his body.

It was gone now. As he reached under the sheets, his stomach felt plain and smooth; there was no blade sticking out of his skin, no blood, just a clean white bandage that held him together.

And Lydia's smile, of course.

"Gerard's dead", he said matter-of-factly.

Lydia's expression faltered. "He is. I killed him, didn't I?"

Technically, she _had_ killed him. But there was no way he could've told her that. So he just said: "It doesn't matter. You didn't mean to."

"Maybe I did", Lydia said, and her eyes once again filled with tears.

Beautiful eyes like hers shouldn't need to cry so much, Parrish thought to himself. If he hadn't pulled her into this, she would be okay now. But for some reason, he couldn't seem to stop until he hurt the one person in this town he truly cared about.

"I wanted him dead", Lydia continued in a quiet voice. "Because he threw that knife at you."

Her eyes locked on his then, and Parrish tried to come up with something to reassure her, but he found himself unable to think as long as he looked into those glassy green eyes. How could a girl be so very beautiful?

Even after what had happened today, even with tears in her eyes and her face stricken with worry, Lydia was still the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. He just felt so lucky for knowing her, and at the same time so guilty for getting her in trouble.

"Your eyes", she went on as Parrish remained silent. "They were glowing, you know? They were glowing bright red."

"Red?" He furrowed his brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I could tell you what the beastiary says about red eyes", Lydia said.

Silence filled the room; Lydia's eyes met his for a split second before she quickly lowered her gaze.

Parrish stared at her for a moment longer, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Breathing hurt. The pain spread out from his chest through his entire body, lingering at his stomach just long enough to make the wound burn again. Before he could hold it back, a weak moan escaped his mouth.

"You okay?" Lydia asked immediately, already half afoot. "I should probably get a doctor."

"No", Parrish protested, "it's fine, I'm –"

"You've been asleep all day", Lydia interrupted him. "The doctor wanted me to call him as soon as you woke up, and you're obviously in pain, and… _I just wanna help you_."

Parrish noticed a change in Lydia's expression as she clutched the back of her chair, steadying herself.

"All I wanted to do was help you", she said weakly, her eyes trained on the ground. "I wanted the beastiary so you would stop doing stupid things to yourself, like… like burning yourself in that warehouse! But what did I do instead?" Lydia let out a dry laugh. "I almost got you killed!"

"That's not true", Parrish replied simply. "My life was never at risk –"

"But he threw a goddamn knife at you!" Lydia called out, probably louder than she'd intended, because she clasped one hand in front of her mouth and looked even guiltier than before.

"Come here", Parrish whispered, patting the edge of his bed. "Take a seat and calm down, okay?"

Lydia took a deep breath, then sat with her back to him, staring out the window at the pink and golden evening sky. "I'm sorry", she told him, her voice trembling hard. "I just didn't want you to get hurt."

"And I never wanted you to get hurt", Parrish said. "But look at us now: I'm okay, and you're okay, and that's the most important thing, isn't it?"

His hand was on Lydia's back before he could even think about it, moving in circles across her white blouse. Little flowers were printed all over the thin cloth, and Parrish stared at them without really seeing anything. For a while, all he did was rub Lydia's back and watch her shoulders heave and slump down again in rhythmic motions.

Eventually, she reached behind her and pulled her strawberry blond hair up in a thick ponytail, exposing her neck for just a second. But that second was enough for Parrish to notice the smooth porcelain skin underneath her blouse and to catch the distinct scent of her perfume – cinnamon – that seemed to fill his whole body once he'd inhaled it.

Suddenly, the urge to touch that skin, to run his hands over her arms and shoulders and through her hair and to get more of that enthralling scent, more of _her –_ the urge was so strong, he had to say something to make it stop, anything, and the first thing that came to his mind was: _"You know what I am."_

Lydia turned around then, nodding slowly.

"Your eyes are glowing again", she said quietly.

"Are they?" Parrish looked back at her, lost in the beauty of her eyes.

"Uh-huh." Was it just his imagination, or was she moving in closer? "It looks… amazing."

"Well, I didn't do anything", Parrish whispered.

"I know. It's what you are."

A tiny smile spread out on Lydia's lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. They were still looking sad, so sad, and Parrish felt like it was his responsibility to change that; to do whatever it took to make her happy, even if it was only for a second.

Lydia deserved it. After everything she'd done for him, she deserved it.

And it wasn't like he had a choice, anyway. Her scent, her skin, her hair; those soft lips and large eyes, framed by thick lashes – _everything,_ every piece of her, all those little details that made her so truly beautiful; they started dancing in front of his eyes, and the next thing he knew was that he reached out for her, too desperate to be careful, and then finally, as he felt her lips press back against his, it was all good.

When he looked into Lydia's eyes again, they were laughing, and so was his heart. Whatever he was, whatever hidden truth he'd been trying to find out the last couple of days, it didn't matter now.

With Lydia right here at his side, his hands buried in her hair, nothing seemed to matter anymore.

"I think I don't wanna know", Parrish told her when they finally pulled away from each other. "I don't need to."

Lydia raised an eyebrow at him, still smiling from the kiss. "You sure? If you're afraid that it might be something bad, its' –"

"No", Parrish cut her off, "no. I'm not afraid."

"Okay, then. In case you change your mind…"

"In case I change my mind, I know where to find you. But there's one thing I'm never gonna change my mind about, you know?"

There was no need to say it anymore. Lydia knew it, and he knew it, too. He'd known it for a long time.

But he said it nevertheless, because of the look in her eyes and the feeling of warmth that spread through his stomach at the mere thought of kissing her lips, making him forget all about the wound in his stomach and the knife that'd been stuck there only hours ago.

"It's you", Parrish whispered before he kissed her again.

* * *

 _Once again, there were flames all around him, and for a moment Parrish was overwhelmed by panic._

 _He'd thought it was all over now. He thought he didn't need to know, after all the trouble that his search had caused him._

 _Lydia was safe; wasn't that all that mattered?_

 _And yet the nightmares were here again, reaching for his arms and legs with their fiery tongues, sowing the idea of burnt skin and terrible pain in his head. But why?_

 _He was turning in circles as the flames grew thicker, sending clouds of smoke up toward the ceiling. Deep down, Parrish knew this was a dream, but it didn't do him any good – he felt the heat on his skin as if it was real, as if he was sitting in that car again, watching the world around him slowly turn to ashes._

 _It wasn't until he'd almost given up that he saw someone coming for him, nothing but a silhouette against all that smoke. Then finally, a pale hand reached out for him, and he knew as soon as he saw it:_ Lydia.

 _When she stepped through the smoke, her face was covered in grime and sweat, but the determination in her eyes made his heart beat a little faster. Relief rushed through his body. Lydia had come to save him._

 _"Come", she told him, and Parrish reached directly through the flames to take her hand._

 _The skin on his arm was on fire, sending shock waves of pain through his body. He gritted his teeth and tried to shield his eyes from the smoke as Lydia pulled on his hand._

 _"Come with me", she repeated, trying to pull him out of the fire._

 _Parrish wanted to tell her to stop, but he couldn't. He was starting to cough, and there was just no way he could get out of here; the fire was all around him so he couldn't get out without burning his entire body._

 _Though there was a way, and he knew it._

 _"Lydia!" he got out, but there was no way she could've heard him. Still, she turned around and looked at him, tears of worry dancing in her eyes. She could see that there was no way out for him; yet she wanted to save him so badly._

 _"What am I?" Parrish asked with the last bit of strength he had left._

 _He was certain that he could handle this if only he knew his real identity, his hidden powers. It would be over then. And even if it might cause him new problems, it wasn't like he had a choice anymore._

 _He wanted it to be over, mostly for Lydia's sake._

 _So when she said the words, everything went exactly as he'd imagined: the flames died down, the smoke cleared, the pain subsided – and he could finally take Lydia into his arms, knowing that she was all right; they both were._

 _"You're a phoenix", she said._


End file.
